


Petyr's Recovery

by EmilArchangelNemisis_Tardis_Pantalaemon7



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:27:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23435398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilArchangelNemisis_Tardis_Pantalaemon7/pseuds/EmilArchangelNemisis_Tardis_Pantalaemon7
Summary: Petyr Baelish dies in Winterfell, but that is not the end. He wakes up in King's Landing just in time to greet the newly arrived Starks.Death has changed his priorities and as he relives events he finds himself giving some very different advice to the new Hand of the King, and taking matters into his own hands when the fool refuses to defend himself. Honestly, Starks! Surrounded by idiots.He will force the Starks to stay together and survive as a family, no matter how stubborn they are. And if, along the way, he happens to make a good impression on young Lady Sansa, so much the better.As far as romance goes, this'll be a slow burn. The beginning is mostly politics. It also means no Underage! Yay!
Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark
Comments: 17
Kudos: 72





	1. Decisions in Time

He didn’t see the knife. His knife. His valerian steel knife, dearly brought. He just a small dark shape obscuring the light and expected arms to grab him from behind, but there were no arms. A flash of silver and terrible pain he could not voice, only feel as the flesh of his throat gapped uselessly open, he had enough time to see the blood pool, feel.his breath fade and then he was falling, thump. He swung his arms around fighting… fighting cloth, thin cloth.

He was back in his bed chambers, sweaty and wrestling with his sheets, disorientated.

That was three weeks ago. He still swallowed whenever he thought about it, sure that he would once again feel that horrible gapping sensation where is throat should be. He’d claimed to be sick and enclosed himself in his room the first day. The second he had gone out and feasted his eyes on everything, he’d wandered around like a man in a dream delighting in everything, in the sun on his face, running his hands alone the walls and over plants and smiling like a fool at people he despised. Laughing at nothing, buying food he hadn’t eaten in years from market stalls. He must’ve looked a bit mad he supposes. Since then he has somewhat gotten ahold of himself, but has not yet lost the energy this new lease of life has given him. He’s had to subtly reacquaint himself with his networks in this life, years in the past apparently, so as not to cause anyone to question his abilities and to remind himself of all the operations and plans currently in the process of coming to fruition, he always has several on the go and he can’t possibly remember all of them from so long ago when things changed so much. He hopes Varys hasn’t noticed, he’s certainly noticed his improved mood, Petyr is verging on jolly these days, by his standards at least and if the odd looks Varys keeps sending him are any indication he’s definitely questioning. ‘Let him question’, the thought of Varys frantically shaking his webs to find out what Littlefinger has planned brings great joy to Petyr. Of course, he doesn’t have anything planned imminently. It seems he has returned after Jon Arryn’s death, but before the Starks have come South to Winterfell, it seems the royal family are still on their return journey. Perfect.

Petyr had done a fair bit of thinking that first week back, when he was ‘ill’. He had always sought power, to get what he wanted, at least since that duel when he was a kid. And what had it got him, in the end? No matter how high he rose he’d never be from an old respected family, his original motivation, to win Catelyn, had fallen by the wayside and it had simply become a way of life, a game. He’d thought of it ultimately and completely as a game. He knew that these were people’s lived he played with, but he didn’t get his hands dirty, see their fear, their loss. That had been his mistake, he had underestimated how much of an impact his planning must have all had on Sansa. He’d forgotten, in a very real sense, that there were feeling beings behind those players. Just as he had with Ramsy. He’d expected people to be like they were in banking or the Lannisters, rational and only out for gain. Forgotten their own personal quirks… Sansa learned. He supposes he should be proud of he for that. He’d seen it, before, in the Eerie, and he hadn’t taken warning from it. Fool.

But that left him with the question, what now? One of the first things he’d done had been to put his feelers out to see if anyone else had been sent back. Nothing, all quiet in the capital so far. Only time will tell with the Starks. A brief irrational hope that Sansa had been sent back was swiftly crushed, he didn’t want her to hate him. No better to keep things as they were. If he keeps everything close to the original timeline then he’ll know what to expect. Problem is he was responsible for a lot of the original timeline and all his much beloved chaos had gotten him killed. Had he died happy? In the end? Of course not, he died wanting. Craving, like Gluttony who eats, but is never full.

“I loved you!”

“And yet, you betrayed me.”

The cold truth of Sansa’s words weigh in his heart. People thought he was unfeeling. He wasn’t unfeeling, he was ambitious. He knew where his priorities lay and was willing to do what it took to achieve them, but there was a reason he had most of the trauma happen away from him. He didn’t like seeing the negative consequences.

So he wasted his life then. No point in denying it. He got what he needed for money, stability and power and he went too far. Became blind. He was ok here.

“I always thought about what I wanted, never what I had.”

He sighed and shook his head running his hand down his face.

Could he be content with that? He was in an enviable position, though still vulnerable to the whims of politics, he could play the game and he could leave it. What would he _do_ though? He was a brilliant mind, he needed puzzles, something to chew on, could he make his goal something else? Like Varys, protecting the Realm, learning to be content with what he had. Not a hope in the Seven Hells, of which this may well be one. No, protecting a realm, definitely not his style. He hummed, stroking his chin.

Sansa, he still wanted Sansa. Could she make him happy? Or show him how to be? It wasn’t until dying and coming back that he realised how detached he had become from any of life’s simple sensations. He noticed the blue of the sky and the shine of his polished mahogany desk for the first time. These details had all paled in comparison to the game before, his obsession. Maybe he had needed the shock to snap him out of it. Sansa. Alright the Sansa, the girl had killed him, but she had also manoeuvred him, been naïve, but also learned. One to keep an eye on maybe. Varys was going to have a panic attack if he didn’t use his network for something soon, such a long period of peace between their spies was bound to be causing suspicion. So what does he _want?_

Catelyn had asked him to keep an eye out for her husband the first time, an almost impossible task given his own recklessness and stupidity, but perhaps it could be managed. Stark was weak here and if he put the full might of his network into it, they might just be able to keep his head on his shoulders. But Arron was already dead and Lysa would be fishing to get him in her clutches as he had promised her. She would have to be dealt with. Cersei and Joffery too. The Daenarys girl was unknown, but could be trouble. He’d never seen the army of the dead either, never gotten the chance too, but enough powerful lords took the threat seriously that he would. 100,000 strong, they’d said. Well he wasn’t sure about that, but best to plan for it, just in case. Which mean no civil wars this time, which was just as well because he didn’t want to deal with that mess again. Perhaps he could push the Tyrells toward Robert sooner, then they’d engage Joffery to Margery and over protective Olenna would do the poisoning for him. Was she married to Renly yet? He couldn’t remember. Well in any case, one thing was for certain, the Starks arrival was definitely going to be interesting.


	2. Starks: Quick Tempers, Slow Minds (except Sansa)

The meeting. Finally.

“Lord Stark, I’ve been hoping to meet you for sometime, I’m sure your wife lady Catelyn has mentioned me.”

“She has, Lord Baelish, and I gather you knew my brother, Lord Brandon, as well.”

“A little too well, I still carry a token of his esteem from naval to collarbone.”

“Perhaps you chose the wrong man to duel with.”

“It wasn’t the man I chose Lord Stark, it was Catelyn Tully a woman worth fighting for I'm sure you’ll agree.”

Deny it, go on. I dare you, I double dare you. I've seen Catelyn in a a temper, just try it. 

Pycelle interrupts and the conversation moves on to the kingdom's considerable debt.

“The Lannisters will accommodate I expect, we already owe Tywin Lannister 3 million gold, what’s another 80,000?”

Stark: shock, horror, my friend an idiot, no really? Honestly one didn't need to be from the future with how predictable he is, Petyr could have just written the notes beforehand and not bothered to come to the meeting. Renly is as _useful_ as ever. Varys and Pycelle as outwardly obsequious, though mildly more engaged given the new arrival. The Arron substitute. He doesn't know why he bothered murdering the last one. Perhaps it was for the pleasure...

"You're telling me the Crown is 3 million in debt?"

"No, I'm telling you the Crown is 6 million in debt," _not that I helped with that at all..._

Ned says “I will speak to the king tomorrow this tournament is an extravagance we can not afford."

“As you wish, but still we’d best make our plans..."

“There will be no plans until I speak with the king!" Ohhh haven't we all heard that one before. And forbidding plans? Does he not know where he _is?_

Maybe it would be best to let Cersei murder the man after all. Then again, who would take his place? Tommen, eventually, he will be sure of it, but in the meantime Robert is the best non-war inducing option available. He may not be going after the throne this time, but he certainly won’t settle for less than a Lord Paramount. No need to be excessive…

\-----

Petyr's Gold Cloaks greet Catelyn, some guilt at having got her killed with his suggestion of turning Lord Fray against the Starks? Maybe, a bit. It will be difficult seeing her again, but he has a higher goal now, he'll manage.

The issue is, she is coming to ascertain whose dagger it was that attempted to end the life of her son. He is not sure if Brann will become the Three-Eyed Raven this time. It might prove problematic if all his crimes, even before this point, were to be brought to the light of day, although, in fairness, most of **them** were not yet against the Starks. How to reclaim the dagger as his without letting on that he armed the assassin in hopes of starting a war with the Lannisters, a war he now wants to avoid?

At least Varys does not yet know the owner of the dagger either. Could he claim it was stolen? A flimsy story which would still point to someone in Kingslanding. That the queen had it somehow? After all, if all goes to plan, she will die soon and the other Lannisters may yet avoid the worst of the blame, but how would a woman get hold of such a weapon? Also if Catelyn never sees how mad her sister has become she might struggle to believe the suicide she is, probably, going to be committing in the near future. Still Royace will manage the Vale well enough until he, ahem, _dear_ Robin, can take it. 

He sighs. Much as he hates it, they may yet need the Three-Eyed Raven against the Night King, if half of what he heard about Brandon’s conversion is true, but with any luck he will see the past, but not Baelish’s own personal past. Catelyn will not let go of the attempt on her son’s life… so who to blame?

Maybe that butcher's boy who was murdered on the way down to king’s landing? He was a suitable nobody who might be called a thief. If he had got hold of the dagger and someone had, in turn, taken it from him, the trail goes cold. No more avenues to explore. Nothing else about the assassin could trace back to him, he is sure of it. And Lysa? Well.. he'll cross that insanity when he comes to it. 

He curses himself for not being quick enough to set up more corroborating evidence before hand, but, in fairness, he’s been very very busy. Never mind, the Starks trust him, he’ll give them enough to believe about the boy, even if he has to make it up as he goes. 

\----

Later in the Throne room...

He sees Lannister-Loyal Pycelle hand Stark a note.

“Good news? Perhaps you’d like to share it with your wife?”

“My wife is in Winterfell."

“Is she?” He grins and wanders off, ohh but playing with Stark had lost none of its appeal. Still best to be careful, no doubt he shares a good deal of that short temper of his children's.

He remembers with seething anger and humiliation the time Ned Stark had choked him against the wall of his own brothel. That wouldn’t happen this time, but he could at the very least get Stark back for it in other ways. Oh he wouldn’t lose his head, not this time, but that didn’t mean Petyr couldn’t make him uncomfortable, make him feel he’d lost everything before revealing the truth. Still, for now, best to avoid a scene.

“I’ve hidden something”, some _thing_ not someone, “in here I need to show you.”

“What does a brothel have to do with Cat?”

“Ned!” Baelish lets out a breath as Cat makes herself visible, better than having to explain to this half-ape buffoon. How Sansa could be his daughter he’ll never understand.

Catelyn tries get him to promise to protect Ned. Before he’d gone along with it, but _honestly_? After she chose another man and left him for dead when he fought for her she honestly believes he’ll still be the same guileless fool who worshiped the ground she stood on?

“I make no promises Catelyn, King's Landing is a dangerous place. I’ll give my council, but at the end of the day it is up to him to take it and if Starks are half as stubborn as they are rumoured to be it might not be enough.”

“Everything in your power then?”

He looks at her, gaze impassive, then back to Eddard Stark.

“No. I will not die for you Lord Stark, I am not one of your sworn swords. If you make a political decision that turns out to be suicidal, I will warn you, I will tell you how to fix it, but if you do not listen I will side with your enemies and I will stab you in the back. I’ll slit your throat if it saves my life. That is just the sort of city we are.” He says merrily, ignoring Catelyn’s incredulous expression. “ _but_ failing that, Lord Stark, of course I’ll be on your side.”

“Thank you for your support,” Stark deadpans, Gods do none of the Stark males have a sense of humour? Apparently not. Sansa must’ve got that from the Tully’s.

There is something in him that rejoices in Cats disappointment after so many years of trying to please her, it’s _almost_ enough to crowd out the guilt.

No attack on Starks forces from Jaime Lannister this time, not if Cat has no reason to kidnap Tyrion. He hopes they have a lovely luncheon together. Maybe the little imp will sleep with her and she’ll be disgraced and suddenly he’ll be poor disgraced Sansa’s best available match. A resentful daydream, but he never said he was perfect.

This time when 'Ned' and 'Cat', as he likes to disrespectfully call them inside his head, are left alone to talk in ‘private’(Ha), Ned says “I don’t think he loves you anymore” (No, really? Only took him two lifetimes) “I don’t trust him.” Petyr rolls his eyes and wanders off, no need to listen to this perfectly predictable conversation.

_Not trusting me was_ (still) _the smartest thing you’ve done since you got off your horse._

That creepy younger daughter is having fencing lessons. He should be glad, on their side now, supposedly. But still, having so many wolves ready to pounce against any perceived injury to Sansa is unnerving. He’d forgotten how well-protected she’d once been, it’d all fallen apart so fast, the wolves picked off one by one. Hmm... tempting target, but no. Not this time, he’d promised himself. Trying to gain approval from this lot though will certainly be pulling teeth, he knew that just from how offended Cat had been that he’d even invite her to one of his businesses. Perhaps he should arrange a few near misses, show them how much they need him. And what happens when he leaves them to themselves.

He might not be about to kill them, but no need for them to get too comfortable, they need to realise what he’s saved them from after all. Great Lords have looked down on him for doing what it takes to survive and being good at it all his life, he is not going to allow the Starks to take him for granted. If he is saving all their lives and thousands of others, the least they can do is grant him their daughter. He will not be used when it suits them, but unable to so much as stand in their footprints when it doesn’t. Not this time.


	3. Planning, Playing and Plotting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plotting, a tourney and what's up with the Eeriy guys?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I highly recommend watching this Petyr/Sansa vid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_DHwioJhy0  
> This is the song I think of for Petyr, a bit sinister, bit cheeky, all off the wall. 
> 
> FYI I'm mostly going off what happened in the TV show, because I've got the audiobooks of ASoIAF and it is way harder to find the scenes I want to reference in the books, plus I recon more people are familiar with the TV show, whereas if I reference the books some people might get left behind so... have fun!
> 
> 10 points to whoever can guys what's going on at the Eeiry! Guess right and I'll include ONE element of your choice into this story...

Sometimes, when the days are hot and dusty, Petyr likes to lie back on his cushions, curtains casting shows with the breeze, breath deep and imagine the world he intends to craft.

Lysa needs dealing with most urgently since she knows about his part in murdering old Jon Arryn.

How to be rid of Lysa? Hmm... No one can approach the Eeiry unnoticed and a gift would be traced if it were poisoned. Ah, but did it need to be poison? One smirk later and he had it, no need to go overboard now, after all he was in no rush.

Cersei must be stopped from killing Robert if he is to avoid the war he started last time. Maybe he could use the Lannister cousin she is sleeping with to ‘administer the poison’ like he did with Sansa at Joffrey’s wedding. Not like anyone would notice the similarities. Who cares if hapless Lancel is arrested? He was annoying as a Faith Militant anyway.

Then what to do about the army of the dead? For now he should send spies to keep an eye on the wall.

Daenarys? He could expose Varys for helping her and have actually competent assassins sent... but doesn’t want to get rid of Varys, dangerous though he is. They could have a worse ‘Master of Whisperers’ and he does admire the guy, in a begrudging sort of way.

Stannis can’t get the throne, too unpopular. Joffrey, obviously, is a dick. Tommen seemed alright though. Naïve, of course, but with the current council to guide him… Pycelle should be got rid of in that case. Ohh that _will_ be a pleasure. A gamble on which Citadel fool will be sent in his stead, of course, but still, as long as they are taught their place early on.

Yes, Tommen is doable, as long as the children are not exposed as bastards, but then he has knowledge of a certain bastard of Stark’s own which might suffice to shut him up should he once more be foolish enough to try and expose Cersei’s infidelity. No doubt convincing him will be easier once the bitch is dead and Geoffery gone. The criminal will be gone and Stark won’t need to protect his daughter from a raving psychopath then. Well, apart from Baelish himself, obviously.

Good as a fall back, but if Cersei were to die soon… Stark only need be delayed from finding out the truth then, not stopped. If he was prevented Stark might start to think someone else killed Jon Arron and that won’t do. By the time he finds the truth the queen has to be unable to deny it. With the guilty party gone, Stark won’t want to risk the children when it can do no good and may condemn his dear ‘son’. Yes, that’ll do.

Lancell Lannister, he was wrestling with himself over whether to approach the boy, sometimes an unknown enemy is more frightening, and thus more influential than a known one. The less they know, the less they can use. Would one of his agents have the subtlety to spread the odd, verging on truthful rumour about the queen? Get the boy a little panicked?

He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and played his game.

\----------------

The day of the tourney arrived just as fine as it had been the last time, even the weather didn’t vary. He smirked, he could probably make a small fortune betting on that, for the few days he could remember at least. Farmers and sailors were always keen to show they knew best and having a reputation for knowing the impossible wasn’t going to hurt.

His conversation with Stark hadn’t varied too much, he’d warned the man about spies and not to trust his dear old self (especially since he knew the fool wouldn't listen), even told him about Sir Hugh, he was going to die soon anyway. No, as long as Stark didn’t go to the blacksmiths, he should be delayed enough. He even had one of his own agents off stealing that book on House lineages. Stark was trusting enough that even if Varys told him just who’d been stealing his reading materials, he’d be safe until he could shift the board under all their feet, and then they’d be far too busy to worry about anything he did.

Baelish allowed his eyes to roam over the stalls, they would sit in the front row, if he remembered correctly they were very nearly splattered with Sir Hugh’s gore when he got a lance to the neck. Sansa had been/would be so shocked. His lips twitched.

As amusing as he had found the naïve little girl who came to Kings Landing, he had had infinitely more respect for the woman she had grown to be, one who heeded his lessons and looked the Lords of the Vale in the face when she lied to them. She had made his heart rate rise and stirred a hunger in him unlike any he had before known. Even Catelyn hadn’t been such a ruthless player of the game. Then again, perhaps she had gotten a little too ruthless, suffered a little too much. He should’ve anticipated it. He shouldn’t have expected her to remain his naïve pupil or to show mercy after what she’d suffered. He’d shown her entirely too much of himself in their little talks and it was not a mistake he planned on repeating, there were other ways to teach her, educated her in the way she needed to be to survive without endangering himself. Although he expected if he hadn’t made the monumental mistake of selling her to Ramsay his death would not have occurred. Maybe. He did plot the death of her elder brother and father, cause the death of her mother and most of their allied Lords and their households. And murder her aunt in front of her, although surely that one could be excused, the mad old hag. And poison her cousin. Maybe she did have one or two things to resent him for...

He had no way of knowing what had happened after his demise, of course, but no doubt Yohn Royce would have remained on the Stark side and they would’ve had a decent chance at fighting off the dead, even outnumbered as they were.

There was a niggling doubt in the back of his mind, nothing he had seen or heard gave it any substance, but if anyone could act the part Sansa could. What if she had returned too?

If she remembered him, if she hated him, then a good deal of his plans would be for naught and he would be forced to wrestle in the Game of Thrones with a child. Or so it would seem to everyone else. Oh he had no doubt he could beat her, it wasn’t that, for all her experience he had more. She had taken him by surprise last time, but he would expect it if that happened again.

If, like him, she had just returned, she would not have had time to get into her role and he was certain he would be able to tell. She had changed a good deal more than he had in their time together after all. But she _would_ hate him. He abruptly realised he had been scowling into the distance and re-arranged his face into something more jovial and approachable, he was in public, men were going to kill each other, he should be merry like everyone else!

But if she hated him… He mentally cast the thought from his mind, no need to fret until there was proof and he began scanning the crowd for the most sullen, dreary-looking group around, surely those would be the Starks. Was he… was he actually nervous? Like a young Squire looking for his first crush? Urg, pathetic. No his heart was just beating faster because of the heat, that’s all. And he’d worn the tunic he happened to look best in because… well he always looked _okay_ in public, it wasn’t anything to do with Sansa. Nope. No way. Not at this point, anyway, back now she was just a child who believed in daydreams, he wasn’t trying to impress a child. There see. Just a… There she is!

It is just as the tourney is about to begin that he sees her, no mistaking that glossy red hair, Lords but she is beautiful, if too young to be considered anything more than an interesting child at this point. His face is graced with a rare genuine smile as he goes up to join them, he doesn’t bother commenting on Sansa’s disappointment at Geoffery’s apathy, she’ll see him for what he is soon enough.

“Care for me to join you, Lady Sansa?”

“I’m sorry, do I…”

  
“Sansa dear, this is Lord Baelish, he’s known…”

  
“An old friend of the family, I’ve known your mother a long, long time.”

  
“Why do they call you Littlefinger?” Arya as sensitive as ever.

“Arya!”

  
“Don’t be rude!” He can’t help but widen his smile at their admonishment, none of them would have dared if they knew what 'little Arya' would become.

He gives her the same answer as before.

“No, it’s quite alright. When I was a child I was very small and I come from a little spit of land called the Fingers, so you see, hm. It’s an exceedingly clever nickname.” His sarcasm was apparently lost on them in light of his smile, oh to be young and so easily deceived.

“Been sitting here for days!” Roared Robert, “Start the damned joust before I piss me-self!” Cersei left, thank the gods for small mercies.

“Gods, who’s that?” Sansa was asking after the mountain again. So far nothing to suggest that she was any old or wiser than she had been before, he had a feeling older Sansa would not have admonished her sister for her rudeness toward him. Surely she couldn’t remember their first conversation that well, could she? _He_ did, or parts of it at least, because he’d been assessing her vulnerability, but at this stage, when knights were all she cared about, she had no reason too and so much had happened to her since…

He would not admit the small thrill of fear he felt at the thought that he might be underestimating her once more. He certainly didn’t enjoy his death, but now it was over he couldn’t help but find the allure of someone who’d bested him intriguing. The thrill of fear down his spine even as he enjoyed the feeling of having her, once more, completely in his control, like a cat with a mouse, but a mouse that might turn out to have fangs. No, he could put that fear to rest. Sansa Stark was a girl of ten and three, head full of Songs and dreams, and nothing more. He couldn’t help that a part of him felt somewhat disappointed, but he would have his Red Wolf again, he would train her up and this time she wouldn’t rip his throat out.

Sir Hugh died and he looked as shocked as anyone, 'oh no! the Squire so suspiciously promoted after Jon Aryn's death is dead! I wonder who could've arranged it? Shock, horror.' It was almost funny that Cersei thought it'd been done for her, even arranged for the Mountain to cover it up. So kind, really, he should send her flowers. Maybe Deadly Nightshade, or Monkshood, or a sweet smelling sprig of Wormwood...

Sansa looked nauseous at the death and Arya vaguely intrigued. He gave a mental eye-roll.

He turned to Sansa, too soon to smile he thought, but he could lean in to whisper. “Not what you were expecting? Has anyone ever told you the story of the Mountain and the Hound?”

He may have enjoyed intimidating Sansa a little, oh he didn’t want to turn her against him, but it was important she know what kind of place she’d come too.

Jealous when she mentioned the Knight of Flowers? No, of course not. That’s not why he dropped rather obvious hints about his true preferences, not at all. But... maybe she was reminding him of Cat’s starry eyed preference for Branndon Stark, just a bit. He had long ago realised that Sansa was not like her mother. Or rather she was in all the good ways, quick and sharp, strong when she needed to be, but in a more subtle way than her mother, less showy more the subtle iron of the North hidden under a velvet lining of southern sophistication. Still, this girl had not come into her own just yet, she was bound to still be imitating her parents to some degree.

He grinned at her nervousness and moved off, he had other people to talk too to arrange matters and now he’d introduced himself as a family friend it wouldn’t be too hard to stop by the gardens to talk with them every now and then. He wasn’t thrilled to think he’d have to say it was for Catelyn’s sake, but since she believed him still fool enough to be in love with her, that was the lie he’d have to sell.

Sometime later he received a scroll detailing the conversation between Ned Stark and the Queen and almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. That Stark fool really was hopeless.

\------------

The Lady Lysa’s behaviour, ever unbefitting for a Lady of the Vale, appeared even more undignified than usual that morning. According to the Maester she had received some sort of gift from King's Landing and had seen fit to celebrate by dancing around the throne room arms aloft, crying and singing and appearing to react to invisible flying objects. Yohn Royace had never had any patience for womanly hysterics and coming from a Lady of the Vale… it was shaming. That's what it was. Shaming.

How her boy was ever to learn how to behave was anyone’s guess. Even the Lady's maid seemed to be picking up some bad habits, the girl had actually gone up to one of the bannisters and sniffed it, actually sniffed it, like a dog.

Before he had a chance to remark anymore on the abnormality of the girl, the Lady Lysa had begun talking to him in a voice which was, even for the loftiness of the Eeriy, head-splittingly shrill and loud. It had taken a deep breath and a forcible reminder of his own honour to resist the urge to question whether the Lady was not in need of a quiet nap. He shook his head as he left, usually impeccable clothes somewhat ruffled in his agitation. _Some people! Lord Robyn could not grow up fast enough._


End file.
